The Murderess
by Tarabridget87
Summary: Story begins before the scene of Satine's visit to the Gothic Tower. Satine chooses an alternative escape from the Duke - MURDER. Please review if you are a reader. Thanks!
1. 1 Alternative Escape?

THE MURDERESS

"I have to sleep with the Duke."

Satine's own stabbing words reverberated in her mind, over and over. Christian, poor Christian, did not understand that the idea of sleeping with another man was as painful to her as it was for him. She had been blessed in that for the short period of time in which preparations for the show overtook her schedule, that she was far too busy to see any clients. Zidler had waved off the pushy men inquiring about the fiery redhead, grumbling that she was currently "off the market!" And it was becoming increasingly clear that the Duke's affections for her were growing evermore, and had Zidler allowed her to continue seeing clients he would certainly revoke his contract. Meanwhile, she and Christian had fallen in love so flawlessly and easily, with no reminders of her jaded past life to drive them apart. She had never known such happiness – to devote her hours to her true passion of acting rather than selling her body, and being held in the gentle arms of a man who loved her, not the aggressive ones of men who did not even look her in the eye.

But now the Duke was growing impatient. No more flighty excuses of a busy schedule would suffice. After all, she'd barely spent any time with him, not even a respectable dinner! This infuriated the Duke, as he wanted to bestow splendid chivalry upon this beautiful creature – although she did not even deserve it! He knew he could just as well have thrown her down and had his way with her, and no one could object – but he was simply attempting to make a gentlemanly gesture! How dare she reject his offers! Well, no more. Tonight the supper was arranged. Tonight he would consummate his contract…in the respectable order of dinner first, of course.

Satine had spent the day watching the hours tick past, watching the sun grow tinged with an angry blood-red as it fell beneath the city. The day was not passing without a fight, the sun raged to remain in the sky for her – but it would inevitably lose. Night was wretchedly creeping upon her. Hunched over her battered vanity in a silken robe of long, stitched lilies, she would soon have to change into her dreaded evening gown – black and seductive; just his flavor and she knew it. She would have to wind her hair up off her neck, only for the Duke to yank it out in a passionate frenzy. She would powder her face and paint her lips ruby, only for that devil to smear it without notice as he uncontrollably ravaged her body. He would not be gentle, and she knew it. And it would be worse because she had made him wait all the longer.

She heaved a great sigh, contemplating her fate, contemplating the ramifications. Christian would be so heartbroken, so disappointed with her. His sad eyes would never look upon her with the innocence that they did, despite that he knew there had been countless men before him. She knew that he wished her to simply run off with him, oh the deliriously idealistic boy! That just could not be. The Duke _would_ find them, and Christian would be killed, and she would suffer ten times the fury and wrath of the Duke. Christian simply did not understand how much power the Duke had in his name. No – there was no escaping her fate tonight. She would simply have to endure his hideous dinner, his sick foreplay. Then she would fall away from consciousness, close her eyes and pray that everything would end quickly. She would try to block out the nauseating sounds of the Duke's pleasure, and of his twisted maniacal whisperings into her ear. Yes, it would all pass and the deed would be done, and Christian would simply have to forgive her. He would, eventually…

These thoughts sickened her, and she felt faint. Satine could not believe herself. She had always been a strong woman with a thick skin. She had encountered scoundrels much worse than the Duke, who had abused her and treated her in the worst ways imaginable. And she had brushed the memories of those nights off with the passing day, relishing the jewels and money she had won. But her heart no longer yearned for diamonds and bills, now she only longed to be with her dear Christian. No amount of money, no fame the Duke could bring to her would mend the breaking of her heart now.

"I must accept it. I must be a big girl now," she scolded herself, noticing that the pale moon was now greeting the Parisians. The time was growing near. She thought wistfully of poor Christian, wallowing alone in his garret, lamenting the night away. She'd hoped he wouldn't take to Toulouse's warm-hearted attempts to solace him with abstinthe. He was a hopelessly depressive drunk…

Satine began to move mechanically about her room, disrobing herself and allowing the silken robe to fall on the floor in a beautiful shiny heap. The cooling evening air felt refreshing on her bare skin, her breasts free and her red curls tickling her lower back where they fell. How bittersweet the feeling of freedom was to her, for she would never be free. She began to reach that horrid dress – the black mess of lace and constricting seams. She frowned at the dress, for just looking at it reminded her of the Duke (she knew he would adore it).

She laughed bitterly, thinking aloud, "My funerary dress!" Yes, wearing this dress as she headed to the Gothic tower would resemble her own personal death march. The prelude to her funeral! The death of her freedom, her love, her soul. Why was she marching to her own death?

Then a thought struck her beautiful red head so suddenly and flashed in her mind so quickly she strained to catch it. Death. Was it between her death and his? If it were one or the other, would she be capable of committing such an unspeakable act?

"No, no… No, I couldn't…" Satine stammered, still awestruck by the thought. It was so appealing, yet so dangerous. If the Duke were eliminated, no one would spend an extraordinary amount of effort searching for a missing whore and a no-name writer. They could escape, and no one would care to find them. They could steal away to the countryside for a while, and dissolve into the quiet life and be married. They would send friendly letters to Toulouse and the others, and perhaps return after the dust had settled… Or maybe never at all! Who knows! Oh, what possibilities life could hold…

But no, no! It was all too preposterous. Satine was a stealthy and shrewd woman, but she could not conceive of taking a man's life… Or could she?


	2. 2 Means to an End

_Chapter Two_

Satine had finished grooming herself a tad early, with enough time to spare to decisively push her thoughts one way or another once and for all. This would be her only chance to escape, the purity of she and Christian's love untainted – a sacrament she yearned to keep intact. For over an hour she had gone from one extreme to the other and back again. Just as she had allowed her mind to ponder the very notion of murdering the Duke, her conscience would defiantly silence any further musings. But slowly her thoughts would creep again towards that dark place, her sinister desires intruding more and more upon her conscience's authority.

Just as she slipped on her black silken gloves, she mulled over the thought once again. Could she? When she thought of losing Christian or of being a slave for the Duke, the answer came more simply. But could her morality allow her to commit the crime?

The hour of the fateful dinner was upon her, and she still was torn. Scorning the clock, Satine decided to remain undecided until she was in the Duke's presence. Then, and only then, would she know what she was capable of. Satine would secretly prey her victim; she would assess the surroundings, find an escape route, and survey the situation. Yes, there would be no clear decision until she had arrived in the company of that vile man.

Satine creaked open her bedroom door, and one blue eye focused through the crack. The hallway was empty. Everyone was practicing late, perhaps. She carefully tiptoed down the crooked hall towards the janitorial closet, always left unlocked. The overhead light flickered and zapped in annoyance at having been turned on, as if it bemoaned Satine to rest in its peaceful darkness again. The closet reeked of a foul odor, and the mass of brooms, mops, pails, and various bottles of cleaning supplies were thrown about in an unkempt manner.

Satine began pushing the many dusty glass bottles about, all kept on a tilting shelf. What would do for a poison, she wondered. At last, she had found a worthy bottle. A black label had almost completely peeled off the dark green bottle, but the writing was clear: VERMIN POISON.

Ah! Rat poison for a gigantic rat of a man! Satine chuckled darkly at this perfect match. She was then subsequently frightened at her own ease towards the horrifying matter. She glanced behind her once more and plucked an emptied perfume vile she'd hidden in her chest. With the sturdiest of hand, she meticulously oversaw as several droplets of a muddy umber poison tinkled into the small vile. At last, she wedged a piece of cork into the vile, returned the vermin poison to its place on the unsteady shelf, and scurried back into her bedroom.

Leaning against the closed door, her palms spread on the splintering wood, her heart began to race. She, Satine, was currently in possession of poison with the intent to murder the Duke. This sheer fact alarmed her, because it was no longer an idea – the poison resting between her breasts meant she was intending to act!

"I can still change my mind," she assured herself aloud. "The poison means nothing unless it is running through his veins." Although she desperately wanted to believe this, she was still frightened of herself. Something within her was taking over of the once sweet and harmless girl – an unyielding desire to protect what she kept to dear to her heart. She knew she would sacrifice her own life for Christian, but she had not known she would be willing to sacrifice others…

"Nothing is decided yet. Maybe we will just have dinner, and the Duke will do what he sees fit with me, and life will simply have to go on…" But as these docile and defeated thoughts crossed her mind, the burning rage to defy and protect roared from deeper within.

"We'll see," Satine said shortly, cutting off any further stream of thoughts. With that, she whipped right back around and stole through her door once more, vile hidden, and thoughts muddled with confusion. She marched to the Gothic Tower, knowing that her fate would soon be sealed in one particular way or another – which way was yet to be seen.


	3. 3 The Murder

_Chapter Three_

"I will make you a star," hissed the Duke into her ear. Satine had nothing left in her but to remain silent in agreement at his attractive yet loathsome offer. The Duke swelled with the kind of pride a man takes in himself when tossing a scrap of superfluous meat after dinner to a starving cur limping by on the street. The Duke gloated within at how indebted this pretty creature must feel towards him, how she would surely repay him after their grand supper.

Satine noticed the Duke's nostrils flaring and his face glistening. She knew that the tension was building inside of him – she would have to act while she was still in a physical position to do so, for his grip would undoubtedly be asphyxiating and escape would be futile. Though she felt sickened at the thought of playing his game, Satine knew she must be a shining actress in this moment, if ever in her life.

Satine glanced once again towards the door, to make sure that the Duke's silent henchman had left them to their feast. She unclenched her fist and peered down at the perfume vial she'd been gripping so tightly, the glass hot from her touch. She rose suddenly, the legs of her chair scraping loudly as awkwardly and nervously as she felt. With her hands delicately behind her back, she appeared coy, which would appeal to the Duke yet served as a means to hide the poison.

"Dear Duke," she cooed, "I'm afraid I'm far too nervous to eat just yet!" She giggled girlishly, advancing slowly towards the seated Duke. She was far too terrified to look him in the eye, which she could luckily pawn off as being bashful. She only had the courage to quickly glance at his eager face – he was entranced.

"And why should you be nervous, my pet?" The Duke squeaked in anticipation.

"Why, you make me feel like a … virgin," Satine elongated the last word in a breathy tone. The Duke visibly quivered at the term, pinned to his chair in wonderment of the siren. Satine gave the impression of a blushing bride, yet the Duke was oblivious to her exceedingly whitening pallor in the dim candle-light of the room. Satine seated herself on the edge of the dinner table, her thin frame covering the Duke's goblet of wine from his sight.

Leaning closer, Satine whispered into his ear, "I just wanted to give you a quick kiss before dinner, my darling. A thank you for all you have done," with that Satine winced as she traced her lips from his ear to the side of his cheek and to his thin little mouth, and massaged his dry lips ever so sensually in a kiss. The Duke closed his eyes in sweet ecstasy, savoring the faint touch of her soft lips. As he did so, Satine swiftly overturned the vial she held behind her back, its contents dripping quietly into the wine.

Tucking the vial into her palm, Satine released the Duke from her kiss of death and smiled sweetly at his stunned face. A wave of guilt swept over Satine as she acknowledged the distinct light of life, however terrible it was, beaming from the Duke's wide eyes. How quickly that would vanish once he washed his nervous, dry throat with the tainted wine!

Before she could stare any longer into the face of a man she would shortly be cause of life's end, she backed away and resumed her place at the opposite end of the immaculate table.

"Dinner first," Satine scolded the impatient Duke, waving a finger in his direction. The Duke shook his head, returning to his sensible self. He had not wanted to forget the order he so passionately clung to in life. Rules were rules.

"Of course! Dinner first, my sweet!" He flashed his crooked smile and began to devour the meat on his plate, trying to speed the process at all costs – even indigestion. Satine could not help but flinch as she watched him tear and gnash at the flesh with the same fervor he would have undoubtedly used with her. One sip, and it would be over. She glanced outside, wondering if Christian were pacing about in his garret. Would he be pleased? Horrified? There would not be much time for either reaction – as soon as she arrived, they would have to pack what was necessary and take immediate flight.

Satine's thoughts were interrupted by a loud, awkward slurping sound. Satine's head whipped in the Duke's direction. The Duke gulped the wine in massive quantity with as much zeal as he offered the meat. This was it.

With a loud "Ahh" the Duke clunked the half-empty goblet on the table with a thud, his lip moist with wine. His face suddenly contorted into an ugly snarl.

"Satine, dear, have you tasted the wine tonight? It tastes rather bitter…" the Duke trailed off as he reached for a napkin and began to dab at the beads of sweat rolling from his forehead.

Satine said nothing, but simply stared in amazement at the spectacle that was about to take place. In a violent motion, the Duke shot out of his chair abruptly and began tripping backwards, howling in pain. He gasped for air, and a nauseating gurgling sound bubbled from within his throat.

"You… you did this!" the Duke stammered, only a whisper left of his voice. His legs buckled underneath him, and he fell to a wriggling heap in the moonlight. Satine stood in apprehension and observed like a scientist studying the effects of an experiment.

The Duke writhed and fought with the poison that was seizing his organs. He moaned so loudly that Satine was frightened someone would come to check on them. But no one came. He only continued to seizure, a pitiful beast succumbing to his fate.

As the Duke hacked and coughed, sputtering for air, Satine simultaneously began to feel one of her ravaging fits rise from deep inside. Almost in perfect rotation, the Duke gasped and screamed, and then Satine choked as she coughed splats of blood onto her hand. Then the Duke would struggle once more, then Satine. She had never felt the cough come so harsh and painful as it did now. Satine wondered if this was God's punishment for what she had done – was she to die just as pathetic as he, in this dreary Gothic Tower?

After some minutes had passed, so did her fit; and she felt relatively well again. It had come and gone with such vehemence that it had frightened her, but there was no time to ponder upon it now. Her gaze returned to the Duke, now nearly dead. With his eyes turned completely bloodshot red in agony, and a pink froth spilling from his mouth, the Duke began to resemble a fallen demon. The last signs of life twitched in the Duke, and finally he was still after such a struggle.

Satine tripped as she flew to his side, and crawled the rest of the way. Shaking uncontrollably, Satine held a hand above his wide-open mouth. She felt no breath rising from inside - he was certainly dead. Satine gazed in astonishment at the warm yet lifeless body before her. It was time to go, before anyone came inquiring about the noises.

Below, on the street, a stunned and heartbroken Christian had heard the faint moans of the Duke echoing from the Gothic Tower above. _She actually went through with it_, Christian thought to himself, disgusted and disappointed. Christian felt the pain sear through his body and threaten to break him into pieces, like the strings of an instrument winding tighter and tighter round a tuning key until they were about to snap. Not only had he his own imagination to haunt him, he had just heard the revolting sounds of pleasure first-hand! Would she pretend the Duke was him? Would she do that thing afterwards where she traced little hearts on his chest?

Tears began to well in Christian's eyes, and a dizzying spell overtook him. He had to take action. She had broken his heart! Yes, he had always known that it was apart of the contract, but as their love grew he had developed a glimmering hope that she would've rather ran away with him than disrobe for that detestable Duke. Christian decided that perhaps he ought to take a break from Paris, from the Moulin Rouge… he thought it best he leave tonight for home in England – leave before seeing her again changed his mind.


End file.
